It's another blazingly hot LA summer weekend night, and you've been invited along with your writer friend to a rooftop party while you're in town at a massive modern house off of Mulholland Drive. The party is packed with people you can't recognize at all, but are somehow or another related to the Hollywood-world. Waiters wander the house carrying trays of champagne flutes and hor dourves wander the floors, and an open bar is in back. You see a tall, thin woman with brown hair in a flowing green dress arguing a bit with an athletic looking middle aged man, maybe in his late forties, about the quality of the tuna tartare hor dourves.
"I just think they could've been better, you know? I know that catering company has done better in the past, the bread's too thick." Collette says.
"David!" your friend Stephan says to the athletic looking man with thinning brown hair on top. He's wearing thick black glasses and a casually rumpled grey linen suit with a blue check shirt under it. "This is أنت, one of my old friends that we go way back. أنت, this is David, he's one of my friends from the war-room days. This delectable, beautiful woman next to him is Collette!" Your friend introduces you to both of them, kissing Collette on the cheek. David offers you his hand, giving you a strong handshake. Collette meekly shakes your hand, and looks you up and down, as if trying to figure out what she can work from you. Collette is wearing a breezy material coral summer dress that hangs delicately off her shoulders with very thin straps, and what you think are some Louboutin heels. A black patent handbag sits on her shoulder with no marking on it, but it looks expensive.
"David, let's get a drink, I'm sure أنت and Collette will be great friends." Stephan leads David off over to the bar, leaving you standing with Collette.
